The Heart of the Dragon
by Hearrtonmysleeve
Summary: Miranda has a little bit of difficulty opening up to Andrea. Established Mirandy. One shot. Femslash. Adult content. Read if you wanna!


**Title: The Heart of the Dragon**

**A/N: I wrote a thing, I hope you like it.**

* * *

**Miranda**

You are waiting for her to leave.

You don't know if she can feel your hesitance, but you know for yourself that you have not opened up to her completely. You truthfully don't know how you ever can. Andréa has the most beautiful soul you've had the pleasure to experience, and you want to enjoy it before she realizes how much time she is wasting on a soul as dark and stormy as yours.

You tell yourself that the reason you aren't completely giving yourself to the one person who shows any promise, is because no one actually likes the real Miranda Priestly. She's demanding, and hard to love, and often times is so swept up into her mind. Sometimes when people are talking to you, it's like there's a sheet of plexi-glass in-between their words and your face. You've developed strategies – moderated facial expressions of glee and distaste, physical gestures, practiced phrases – all to help you express yourself while saving face. If asked, you may even call it an art.

At first, you tried to show Andréa the pieces of you that the world has deemed beautiful. The less than perfect parts, well, she is privy to more than the rest of the world will ever be. You revealed to Andréa your body when adorned with the finest scraps of silk from La Perla, or in your timeless Versace gowns. You never wore anything less than designer labels, mindful of the fact that she may just be allured by the façade of your image.

It wasn't until months into your relationship that you realized perfection wasn't what she wanted from you. On days when you don't feel quite up for a costume, your love gets to see you in casual wear that all of _Runway's_ staff must assume you don't even own. "You wear leggings?" Andréa had asked with shock painted across her features. The simple, pastel-colored tunic on your upper half flowed breezily as you ruffled her hair and tossed an amused smirk in her direction. You made sure to add an extra sway to your hips, knowing that Andréa's eyes would no-doubt be drawn to the unfamiliar sight of your backside in the clingy material as you walked down the hall.

She witnesses your chuckles and deep belly laughs more than anyone you can ever recall, aside from your twin girls. Most people would probably just presume they aren't worthy of your laugh. You would admit to anyone that it's because "laugh" is a loose term used to describe the inelegant snort that comes out when you are amused. One of your ex-husbands once compared it to a foghorn. After that, the things he said started being a lot less funny.

You try your best to bare your complete self to your girlfriend, but the walls around you still remain fortified. There are only a handful of times that Andréa has woken before you, and caught you off guard in your pajamas, with messy hair and naked blond lashes. You have taken extra care to make sure that when she wakes, you have already made a trip to the bathroom to take care of your basic human needs. Surely Andréa will not still want to be with you if all she has to wake up to is stale breath, bed head, and sleepy sheet lines etched into your face.

Instead, you want her to concentrate on the feeling of your mouth on hers, touching for the first time that morning. You want her to focus on the way your tongue dances sensually against her own, or the feeling that grazes hotly against your lower belly every time. You have a feeling Andréa feels a similar burn, because she lets out a breathy little _sigh_ almost in tandem with yours. You need that whimper of hers almost as much as you need air. You try to start the day with kisses that say _I need you. Please stay._

You are aware that your body betrays your age. You are more petite than your girlfriend, and somewhat physically fit. If someone where to see your body alone, most wouldn't guess that you were a day over 45. As for your face, your flattering haircut works wonders, and you knew that when you became editor of _Runway_ that it was necessary to let your locks go grey. Seniority means respect, and you will take every ounce of it you can get.

Sometimes the bathroom mirror makes you briefly consider plastic surgery, and you'd probably indulge if Botox would erase those pesky crow's feet instead of making them worse in the long run. To quell the feeling, you think about how Andréa looks into your eyes before she kisses you, how her hands feel against your cheeks. You consider the fact that if her hands deem your face worthy of her touch, then your wrinkles can't be but so off-putting.

Andréa sometimes makes you both breakfast on mornings where you can afford to enjoy each other's company before work. You love these moments, because ever since she moved on to work for _New York Times Magazine_ instead of fetching your lattes, you see a lot less of her than what you would like. She spoils you with pancakes, and scrambled eggs, and even fries up that organic turkey bacon you got her hooked on. It all smells so absolutely delicious, and makes you feel so absolutely guilty when every time, you eat less than half of what she has made you.

You've told her that you just aren't a breakfast person, but in reality you know that bacon of any sort will only add inches to your waist. You, and other lovers before your sweet Andréa have convinced you that love is conditional to the size etched into the tag at your collar, and Emily's ridiculous cheese cube diet seems more and more appealing every day.

You still get your morning fix though, by just watching Andréa and the simple enjoyment she gets from a well-prepared meal. Somehow the carbs never stick to her love handles the way you're sure they would do to yours. Besides, even if Andréa suddenly gained sixty pounds you would still think her body is simply divine.

She adorably kisses your nose on occasion due to the fact that if you fold your body into hers just so, it rests at the perfect height of her lips. Your arms wrap around her sturdy frame and you nuzzle into her neck in a way that says _right here, I am home._ The tightening of her own arms around you acts as the perfect response to your silent declaration. One of your life's simple pleasures is just breathing her in.

Her kisses are like reassurance, grounding you better than an iron weight ever could. You never want her to stop kissing you, so as a result you gift her with items to show her what a gift she is to you. Among other things, you've given her a coat made of soft buttery leather and a sleek silver laptop to show her that you believe in her skills as a writer, and don't ever want her dream of that to be held back. With every item she receives, comes her polite but heartfelt opposition. "It's too much," she says every time, "how will I ever be able to repay you?" These gifts are ways to tell her that without trying, she already does. You hope everything she receives from you whispers, _you are the greatest possession I own._

Sometimes your feelings for your love completely overwhelm you. You've never hoped for anything the way you hope that Andréa has not noticed the tear that sometimes leaks out of your eye when you make love. You truly don't mean to be this sappy cliché woman, but your girlfriend is so damned _beautiful_ when in the midst of passion that you wonder what you will do when she leaves.

You dedicate your time in bed to finding exactly what makes her back arch dangerously high, or makes her attempt to grind herself more fully into you. It's your intention to leave her with nothing but pleasant memories of the time she's spent in your bed. Your last ex-husband made sure to tell you while packing up his possessions about how frigid you were "in the sack." Stephen told you quite harshly about how you never spent nearly enough time on your knees making him feel as satisfied as possible. You think you might die if Andréa ever said anything about you not being generous enough in this area of your love. A woman as wonderful as her deserves to be shown how much she is loved at every opportunity.

The release Andréa brings you to is so much stronger than any man in your life could come close to. The delicious pressure she uses against your body never fails to make you whimper and writhe, even if your actions are still somewhat measured compared to hers. Stephen also took the opportunity to share with you how your throaty passionate moans sounded too animalistic to be arousing. You can't tell if he was being truthful or just trying to further wound your already bruised pride. As a precaution, you take care to make sure that even though you may technically be a cougar, you sound more like a kitten in the bedroom.

Admittedly, you have always been a woman of action, rather than of words. You know that this quality has lead you to your current success, but also many times to your downfall. It seems the less you speak out loud, the louder your thoughts become.

You don't hear Andréa come up beside you while you stand staring blankly out of the kitchen window. It's almost winter again, and it's been nearly a year since you've been together. You take this time to wonder how long Andréa will stay here with you, and what will be the action of yours that finally pushes her away.

When Andréa places a mug on the counter, it's enough to shake you out of your self-deprecating daze. As you prepare your mouth to smile at her, the look she gives you is nearly breaking your heart. Her eyes are asking you desperately _let me in_, and you stare back hoping that you own blue irises convey to her that _you're trying_. It has taken more time than you anticipated for her to get past your walls, but by God every day she knocks away another layer. You can't tell if you are grateful or terrified. You know that the sooner you let go of all pretenses, the sooner her time with you will come to an end.

No one has ever tried to figure you out the way Andréa has. And no one has ever come this close to succeeding, either. It's only a matter of time before your heart opens up completely, all on it's own. When she sees all that you are, you are certain that it will be time for another round of goodbyes.

* * *

**Andy**

Miranda's professional persona would lead anyone to believe that she faces every challenge head on with determination, grace, and confidence. Everything about her commands attention whether she knows it or not, and to her surrounding acquaintances, she is a force to be reckoned with. However, emotionally, you find that she spooks as easily as a baby colt.

You'd like to find exactly who it was that convinced this magnificently stunning creature that she is not worth getting to know. You would give all the fingers on your right hand to be privy to her every thought, if only so you could soothe her worries that much better.

Your mind sometimes pulls you against your will back to nights like the one a few weeks ago. You had awoken in the middle of the night to blue eyes tracing every feature of your face. Heavy tears had collected on the brim of her eyes but refused to fall. You took a chance by daring to ask her what was wrong. Her reply had been both simple and sad, a shaking voice creaked out, "I will miss you when you go."

The words had shocked you while ripping a jagged gash through your heart. "Honey," you said gently, "what makes you think I will leave you?" It saddened you to think your strong beautiful lover couldn't imagine that she would be your forever. Her hand warmed the side of your face with a caress like summer wind, "My dear," she began, that hand tracing the planes of your neck down to your chest, "they always do."

That night, made sure to give her pleasure that spoke, _all of me belongs to you. Forever,_ willing her to believe it.

Miranda has many facial expressions, all of them catalogued in your mind so that you've become an expert at reading her. Sometimes she is so carefree that you can see little glimpses of childlike glee in the smile on her face. Your love will engage you with looks of amusement or mischief or (if you're lucky), pleasure, that melt your heart from the inside like warm honey. Other times your lover looks so lost and lonely that your ribs feel like they are squeezing your lungs painfully too tight.

Even though you would love to rush the process, you hope that Miranda will bare her soul to you on her own time. A strong willed woman like herself does nothing that she does not want to do. Patience is not at all appealing to you, but for Miranda, you are prepared to wait forever.

This woman is your rock as much as you are hers, and losing her is unimaginable. It's simply not an option for you, because without her, what is fueling your heart to pump steady blood though your veins?

Miranda is ever so generous in bed, and you've noticed that many times after she has brought you to release she is content to hold you until you drift off to sleep. She will stroke your hair or back and let out the occasional hum with the breath that leaves her body. You don't mean to willingly fall asleep when she does this, but damnit, that woman knows how to play your body expertly, to put you in the most relaxed state of satisfied exhaustion.

It catches her off guard one night when after you've had one of those strong delicious orgasms, you roll her onto her back and straddle her hips. She leans up into your kiss, even though her slightly arched brow displays confusion.

You place hot, wet kisses down the side of her neck where you can see her heart beating. She tries to tell you "Andréa, I'm alright, we should sleep." But you will have none of that. "I want you to be more than alright." You try to explain, "I want to make you feel good."

She smiles warmly at you, expecting the conversation to be over when she says next, "You do, Andréa. Every single day. Never doubt that, darling." Her soft palm rests against your cheek familiarly as she says those words, but drops toward the mattress as you keep moving against her.

Your captivating lover looks mildly terrified when you continue your ministrations. It is then apparent to you just how vulnerable she feels when on the receiving end of pleasure. You take the moment to rock your hips skillfully against her own, both of your most intimate places touching. You watch Miranda's face battle with fear and arousal, trying to decide which will win. Making love to her is one of your most favorite things in the world, and now it's time to do so with no emotional barriers in place.

You press a kiss to that soft spot in between her breasts that you're sure you will never tire of. Your right hand cups the pliant flesh of her breast, and she lets out a delicate sigh. When you lower your mouth to the other breast, and begin kneading the pebble already in your palm, Miranda bites her lip to keep quiet.

That is the opposite of what you want. You want Miranda to let out even her most primal of moans when she feels the need. You want to see her face and hear her moans and have her _just be_ with you, without any cover up or falsities. You know that you want every single part of this woman, even the parts she has tried to keep concealed. Especially those parts.

It's obvious that your love needs guidance. Until this point, you have tried to offer silent reassurance of your presence in her life, but she needs to hear it out loud now, before she stops making progress and pushes you completely away.

Her head is thrown back into the pillow, a silent way of telling you to continue, but you take a chance and snake back up to her lips. A sweet kiss makes its way from your lips to her jaw. "Miranda," you call to her, trying to focus on her face, instead of the smoothness of her legs against her own. "Hmm," she replies absently, waiting for you to continue with either your words or bringing her pleasure.

"I want," you begin, moving your lips to her earlobe. Her interest is piqued almost instantaneously, your generous lover never hesitating to bring to you exactly what you want or need. Your hot breath ghosts over her delicate lobes and into her ear, "I want you to give yourself to me."

A shiver shakes her shoulders and she gasps, either from the shock of your words or the sensation of your warm request into her ear. She does not bother to feign cluelessness about your words, and her body gets noticeably stiffer.

"Honey," you coax gently, resting your weight on your forearms above her. The air between both of sets of your eyes is heavily charged with too many emotions to count. You lean forward taking her lips with yours, and her body responds immediately. "Please, Miranda," you say against her lips, in between kisses that get more passionate by the moment.

The look swimming in her grey-blue eyes tells you _I will try_ as she nods her head gently to give you permission. You smile at per proudly and whisper into her ear, "I love you so much." You know she will hear the meaning behind your words, how you are also saying _thank you for trusting me. I won't break your heart._

Your mouth never leaves hers but once again one of your hands sneaks stealthily down her body, traveling over soft planes and caressing her curves gently. Somehow that sneaky hand makes it to the set of perfectly carved breasts that feel like magic in your palms. You knead and caress them once more, bringing your mouth to taste the slightly salty skin of her shoulder.

Almost with a mind of it's own, one of your thighs creeps in-between hers, meeting soft, wet heat and molding against it. Your own core presses against her thigh as well as you sinfully grind your lower halves together. A throaty growl of a moan comes from the mouth of you love, and hits you right in the core. Miranda has never made a sound even remotely close to that before, and it indeed makes you embarrassingly wetter.

Your motions are heartily fueled by her sounds, and a glance to Miranda's face reveals lust winning the war between itself and fear. She's finally ready to let go and you're ready to safely catch her when she falls.

Fingers on your right hand seek out her wetness, and the feeling of your lover's core makes you either want to combust or cry. This woman feels so perfect, so soft, so wet, and so so yours. You circle her entrance, stalling before pushing gently inside. The gasp she releases makes you strangely proud. She bucks her hips, thrusting your fingers impossibly deeper. You know by now that curling your fingers inside of her drives her crazy, but hold off for just a second.

"Look at me," you whisper gently in a way that sounds more like a plea than a command. You would never force her to do anything that she is unwilling to, even though you know that for you, she would. You reward her compliance with a smile, and continue pumping in and out of her center, bringing her closer to the edge. Your fingers curl inside of her, eliciting even more passionate moans.

Pleasure makes her eyes struggle to stay open, but you both need the connection your shared gaze affords. With this look you tell your love, _give to me, I am thirsty for all that you are._ It's as if a dam has broken, and you are not disappointed with her body's response. Her moans are no longer the shy little mewls you've become familiar with. You hadn't known this woman could be any more arousing, and you are delighted to be proven wrong.

You have seen passionate Miranda when you have made love in the past, but at this instant she is wondrously unreserved in a way you have yet to experience. You can't help but feel your lust for her intensify, but along with it your love for her has also increased. At this point she is thrusting herself into your palm, and clawing with both hands at your hips desperately.

A sob escapes her throat and for a moment you falter, not wanting to bring her any unwanted sensations. "Stay," she breathes, when she senses your hesitancy, and you will, in every sense of the word. Her orgasm is swiftly approaching, you can tell by the way her body is tightening around her fingers. A release of your own is imminent if you continue your body's movement against her slick thigh.

You want to hold off, for this moment to be about her, but her fingers have shifted to you hips. The way she has grabbed them, forcing you to grind more firmly against her raised leg suggests that if she is going over the edge, she will do so with you tagging right along. Your girlfriend is uncharacteristically vocal, with moans interspersed with sobs, and wanton in a way that makes you thankful that you're even alive to witness this moment. She is giving to you, and you will greedily accept every offer.

You continue moving against each other, establishing a rhythm that you will not be able to keep much longer without coming undone. Her eyes have not left yours and the connection between your two souls could not be described with words. You are at the edge of the precipice and want her to tumble into oblivion with you. Your thumb grazes her clit, and that sensation doubled with your fingers deep inside of her cause your lover to moan, "Oh God, _Andréa!_"

With that, you've both come undone.

Blinding white light explodes behind your eyelids as your body is consumed with incomparable pleasure. The feeling is only intensified as you feel your silver-haired goddess undulating and contracting underneath you. This is pleasure you feel travel down your spine to the tips of your toes. You hope that you've given Miranda a fraction of the pleasure she's just given to you.

As you come down from your high, you realize that moans from the woman under you have turned to faint sobs accompanied by tears. She hugs you to her, burying her face in your neck. You let her release her pent up emotions, grateful for the unabashed display. Love for this woman blossoms warmly in your chest.

After a few minutes she releases you, and you raise your forearms to have a better look at the love of your life. She looks radiant, emanating relief, contentment and other emotions that you can't quite name. You can feel her about to apologize for her emotional display, but you swallow her repent with a deep bruising kiss before it can make itself known.

"God, you're beautiful." You say to her earnestly, it comes out almost as a moan. You would feel smug about the blush you receive in return if you weren't so consumed by affection. "I love you so very much, my Andréa," she replies. That smile is worth more to you than gold. It is with this thought in mind, that you both drift exhaustedly into a peaceful sleep.

* * *

The next morning you notice that you are first to awake. There is a beautiful woman in your arms, and you send up a silent _thank you_ to whoever is responsible for your good fortune. Your lips graze the forehead centimeters away on their own accord; you are helpless to stop them. When your fingers comb affectionately through adorably mussed waves of silver, your lover gently stirs awake. The arm draped around your middle tightens just a little, and legs tangled with your own shift comfortably.

The first thing you notice upon inspection of her is that she does not look embarrassed, but immeasurably happy. Her blue eyes radiate contentment she's never revealed and it makes you that much more hopeful about your future. Your face must be colored with shock, because she chuckles, "Good morning, Andréa," with an air of mirth, and squeezes your sides gently.

She seems so light. It's as if she was carrying a weight on her shoulders that somehow floated away in her sleep. The thought makes your eyes a little wet.

You inquire about a shower and breakfast after asking what time she has to be in her office. You have decided to work from home today, knowing you will be too distracted with thoughts of the way your girlfriend looked last night. It is the shock of the century when she tells you that she, too, will give this "working from home" thing a try. Just for today. You can feel the brilliance of your own smile. You predict that when notified, Emily may go into cardiac arrest.

In her massive three-headed shower she holds you tenderly, massaging soapy bubbles into your lower back in a way that makes you practically purr. One of her hands slips down to goose your behind, and you decide that playful Miranda is a version of your love that you thoroughly enjoy.

* * *

**Miranda**

Andréa somehow dresses faster than you, making her way downstairs with talk of waffles. Your stomach growls, knowing she will produce something of both high quality and high caloric value. For some odd reason, you can't find it in you to care.

This wonderful, beautiful, kind-hearted woman has somehow found a window to your frigid heart. Without even thinking she gracefully tumbled in, and started the most comforting of blazing fires. You have decided that you will do anything in your power to keep it from burning out.

You have made a silent promise to her that you will let her in. She will see that you are demanding, hard to love, and inconveniently introverted. She will see all of you, even the parts unfit for display, and you are trusting her not to run.

**A/N 2: I am extremely new to this fandom, and this is something that I wrote one night when I couldn't sleep. I hope you liked it! Leave a review if you want!**

**A/N 3: To all of you waiting for my Rizzles story to be finished/updated… woops. I'm really sorry. I just have no motivation for finishing it. I'm so so so sorry!**

**A/N 4: Maybe I'll do a short crossover for Rizzles/Mirandy. I've got some ideas if anyones interested. If you think that's a terrible idea, let me know lol**

**A/N 5: If you read all of this, thank you from the bottom of my heart.**

**- A**


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